


Filial Piety

by Chigrima



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Bill is a little shit, Caning, Choking, Fearamid torture, Ford suffers, Gen, I REGRET NOTHING, Pain, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chigrima/pseuds/Chigrima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill gets inventive in his quest to get back into Ford's mind. He's been there before, he knows what lurks in the corners. Maybe it's time to find someone that'll make Ford see sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filial Piety

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nikki_ki_yay, Silvestris, Soawen and Nanibgal for beta and encouragement! <3

Bill had finally given up his attempts… for now. Breath still heaving in big gulps, he huddled deeper into the corner of the fire-lit room, fighting for air. His throat hurt. Everything hurt. He dragged his sleeve over his face, tears still flowing and nose clogged with snot. The arm came away streaked with red. Despite the fire, he was shivering.

 

Through the window he could see the gash in reality that hung above the town and the nightmarish colors that swirled beyond. Bill had left him with a chipper promise of more pain later and “can’t let you keep me all to yourself, kid, there’s a town out there and some people still have their insides on their insides.”

 

Bill in the flesh was infinitely worse than he’d been in the Mindscape. A Bill released from all shackles, barriers and limitations. Horrifying. Worse than he’d feared, and he’d spent the last 30 years with that fear gnawing in his guts. Now the only thing holding the demon back was the magnetism of Gravity Falls. Which he’d been _stupid_ enough to let Bill know there was a way around. Groaning, he hugged himself tightly.

 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

 

Nothing of this would ever have happened if he hadn’t been _stupid._

 

***

 

Time passed, impossible to say how much. Bill was right in that it held no meaning, not anymore. All he knew was that he stayed curled up in himself in the corner, despite aching limbs and creeping numbness, staring into the flames. His mind raced in circles, the same thoughts tumbling over and over again without solutions or respite. Bill. Dipper. The journals. Gravity Falls. The crackle of the flames and the soft breathing of the couch were almost soothing, hypnotizing. Which was why his pulse spiked and head whipped around when something _moved_ in the far corner.

 

He winced when the collar bit into his flesh, bruises and cuts protesting. There was something over there, half hidden beyond the arm of the sofa, slowly moving into the light. Something dark and bulky, the shape morphing and shifting in a decidedly uncanny way. He felt his skin crawl. What had Bill come up with now?   

 

The creature finally rose to its full height, its shadowlike surface blooming into color as it stepped forward. Familiar color, familiar face. He felt his breath catch in his throat.

 

“No. No no no.”

 

Filbrick Pines stood before him, in the same plaid suit and black fedora as he remembered so _well_ , his face unreadable behind his sunglasses. Ford grit his teeth, glaring up at him – it. It was just a copy. Just another of Bills little games. He told this to himself firmly, but still almost faltered as the creature stepped close and every movement was so _right_. It bent down and he saw his own reflection- beaten and bloody- in those so-familiar sunglasses.

 

“Stanford.” The chain jingled as he started. His father’s voice. _His father’s voice_.  Perfect and true in every way, down to the barely-veiled disapproval behind the syllables. This was not – he’d not expected…

 

“Damn you, Bill!” He shouted, jerking back from the abomination before him, “This isn’t funny!”

 

A strong hand grabbed the chain hanging from his neck and yanked him forward until he was nose-to-nose with his father’s face. “ _Language_ , kid. I’ll not have that kind of words in my own house.”

 

Growling and straining against the iron grip, he ignored the pain around his neck and tried to wrench free, the creature’s body cold and unyielding under his hands. “Let go of me!”

 

The reply was a hard hand across the face, his head jerking to the side in a movement as painful as it was familiar. He tasted fresh blood in his mouth.

 

“Don’t you talk back to me, you little squirt. Damn disappointment, you too.” The thing that looked like his father raised his hand again. “Should’ve known.”

 

He wasn’t a little kid anymore, he’d learned the hard way to handle himself in a fight, but this thing was _strong_ , well past any human capabilities. It caught his upflung arm effortlessly, the backhand leaving his ears ringing and something warm trickling down his cheek. And then it struck again. And again.

 

When it finally let go he collapsed forward, dizzy and nauseous from the pain. _Head trauma_ , his brain helpfully supplied. Gasping for air, he pushed himself up on shaky arms and was caught completely unaware by the hard boot hitting his ribs.

 

Pain exploded along his chest. Screaming, he rolled over on his side, curling up into a protective ball. It didn’t help. Another kick found its way to his ribcage. He felt something give under the pointed toe. And through it all, it kept _talking_. “Little freak. Failure. All those years I paid your way, and how did you repay me? By doing _nothing!_ ” The next kick hit his kidneys and he howled, attempting to crawl away. It still came after him. “Just holing yourself up in this shitty good-for-nothing backwater with your damn _plans_. And how did that go? You destroyed the whole damn _world_ , you little shithead!” It paused, breathing heavily. “Should’ve kicked you out along with the other one.”

 

The pause gave him the time he needed the scramble back into the corner. Pressing his back against the stone walls, he coughed painfully. Cracked ribs. “You’re not my father, you fake. Drop the act.”

 

The creature snorted, an eerie mimic of his father’s minute shoulder shrug. “You were always the smart one, Stanford, but you seem to have dropped all those brains somewhere along the way. Dad better remind you.”

 

It turned towards the small table by the fireplace and Ford’s breath froze when he realized what was leaning against it. The cane. The heavy oak cane with the carved handle that had always been standing in the corner of his father’s office. The one that only came out then his father was _really_ angry. Usually at Stanley. Stanley was the difficult one, not him. He’d almost _never-_    

 

The creature grabbed the handle, weighting the length of wood in his hand, and turned to look at him with an expression that terrified him in its familiarity.

 

“Stop making this difficult, boy.”

 

Snarling, he launched himself forward. _“You’re not my father!”_

 

He took a swing at its face and it barely moved as the blow struck home, just sidestepping him and delivering a sucker punch into his already sore stomach. As he gagged, an inhumanly strong hand grabbed the chain once more, lifting him up on his tiptoes. He clawed at the collar, gasping for air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it lifting the cane with its free hand. “I’m your father all right kid, and it seems you have a lot of reminding to do. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t been so stupid.”  

 

Pain. The first blow smacked into his unprotected side, a jarring shock that exploded against his abused ribcage. The strikes rained down relentlessly, not an inch of his body spared. It quickly figured out just how much his ribs hurt and attacked them mercilessly, the cane impacting his body with heavy thuds that not even his coat and sweater dulled. He would've screamed if he had had the air for it, but the steely grip on the collar kept him on his toes, scrambling for purchase under the relentless barrage.  When he failed and slipped it didn't pause, just bore his weight easily as he gasped and choked, desperately trying to get his feet back under him.

 

It worked until it started to target his legs.

 

The first strikes over thighs and shins merely hurt and sent him stumbling. But then a hard blow hit his kneecap and he hollered, leg giving out under him. His bruised neck screamed in pain but no sound escaped his mouth as he failed to regain his feet. Dangling from the collar, he felt the world start to blacken and fade as he fought for air. He twisted wildly, hands clawing ineffectively over the collar and hand hanging him.

 

It suddenly released the chain and let him fall. He screamed as his injured knee hit the stone floor, wheezing hoarse breaths past the collar.

 

“Had enough yet, kid?”

 

Another crack of the cane landed across his back. Whimpering, he huddled over and curled up. Another blow followed, and another. When he tried to rise, an even harsher blow took him right across the back of his neck, sending him crashing down onto the floor. He didn’t try and get up after that.

 

It was nothing like the beatings of his childhood. The cane rose and fell with inhuman strength behind it, fast enough that the pain of one blow bled into the next. His back was on fire, every new strike fanning the flames. His legs and thighs cramped under the onslaught. It continued well past his endurance. When it finally finished, he lay where it left him, sobbing, feeling the cold of the stones seeping into his burning cheek. When it bent down over him again, he flinched in a way that had nothing to do with the inter-dimensional traveler Stanford Pines and everything to do with a scared little kid.

 

“I _said_ , had enough yet? Or should I start over?”

 

“No,” he gasped, his vision wavering, terror coursing through his guts with every syllable of that New Jersey accent. His father’s voice. He knew it was a lie and yet his mind refused to not believe it.

 

“Finally you’re making some sense, boy. Now apologize to your father.”

 

He swallowed thickly, tasting bile and blood. “I’m…. I’m sorry.”

 

A snort. “You can do better than that.” A thick hand in his hair, dragging him up on his knees. “All those long and fancy words you like so much. _Use them_. And don’t forget who I am, _son_.”

 

He stared up into the impassive face, almost gagging at the sight of his own blood splattered over the dark glasses and ruddy cheeks. Like this, in the pain and through the tears, it wasn’t Bills creation that towered over him. The illusion was too complete.

 

“Forgive me, dad! I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry! I really am!”  His voice sounded unrecognizable to his own ears. Just a hoarse, raspy wheeze, babbling pleas and apologies. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for. Anything. Everything. “Please stop. Please, dad. Please.”

 

 “You’re pathetic Stanford, you know that? Just a big crybaby. A weakling. At least Stanley always took it like a man.” His father weighted the cane in his hand and he flinched, but all he did was to return it to its resting place against the table. The gloved fingers retuned to grab his chin in an iron grip. “You’re my curse, son. My burden. And you deserve anything that Bill guy will bring your way, understand? All of it. Because this…” his father made a gesture towards the room, the window and what lay beyond, “...It’s all _your fault_. Understand?”

 

Whimpering, he nodded as much as the vicelike grip allowed.

 

His father bent down over him. “So if I were you, I’d give Bill what he wants. Because you will in the end. You’ve failed at everything you ever done in your life, boy. This won’t be any different. You’re weak. Just look at you.” He swept a disgusted look over his son. “You’ve always been a coward. Why stop now?”    

 

Straightening up, his father released him, letting him double over and clutch his ribs as Filbrick pulled out a red handkerchief and carefully wiped the splatters off his face. “I’m off for now, son, Don’t give me a reason to come back.”

 

He stared fearfully after the man as he walked back the way he’d come, the firelight casting flickering light over the checkered suit. His father turned towards the corner and then _dissolved_ , black matter heaving and shuddering as it sank back into the shadows.

 

Sobbing, he curled up on the floor, body screaming in pain. Not his father. _Not his father_. Just a fake. Fuck Bill. _Fuck Bill_ and his games and his plans and none of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t been so _stupid_.

 

His father was right. It was all his fault. He deserved all of this. But as he painfully dragged himself up to sit against the table, useless leg stretched out in front of him and blood trickling down his face, he grimly promised himself he’d prove the old man wrong, too.

 

It’d take more than this to make him shake Bill’s hand again. He might be a failure, but he wasn’t a coward.

 

Grabbing the heavy cane, he flung it as hard as he could into the fireplace.


End file.
